How Lucky He Is
by SkyeRose
Summary: Out of everyone on base, he was the one who could make her blush. He was the one who made her nose scrunch when she tried not to smile. His was the arm she allowed to support her's.-Set early season one in a little retrospective on how Sam feels being "the girl" and how everyone in the SGC really sees her. SamJack, twoshot
1. Sam Carter

**How Lucky He Is**

**Chapter One: Sam Carter**

**A/N: This idea popped into my head and refused to vacate, so here ya go! I have one more chapter in 'The Many Faces of Jack,' but this one just had to come out. It's a two parter that looks like it's sort of a character study—and it might be—but really it's just a SamJack gloating thing.**

**Enjoy!**

Sam had been Air Force her entire life—she'd grown up on bases all over the world, moving wherever they stationed her father- and, eventually, when she'd joined herself before college. The Force had both paved and paid her way to her doctorate in Theoretical Astrophysics, but she'd been no stranger to combat during that time—logging a considerable amount of air time in the Gulf.

She had brains and brawn and courage to spare, often outthinking and outmaneuvering whoever her opponent was. But none of it mattered. Her degree, her level three advanced hand to hand, her theater of operations involvement…no. All that mattered was her set of double X's.

For as long as Sam Carter could remember she had wanted to be an officer in the Air Force—the country's first line of defense. But for just as long, Sam Carter had never felt that innate sense of belonging; she'd never felt valued.

She'd put up with all of the derogatory, sexist, or just outright spiteful comments that had been slung her way throughout her tenure at the academy and her early days as a lieutenant because she'd known—simply _known_—that all she had to do was prove herself. Prove that she was just as good as every single one of those flyboys.

Better, even.

So, she'd waited. And waited. And then, one day, she'd stopped.

Stopped waiting to be accepted. Stopped waiting to be valued. Stopped waiting to be _seen_.

Sam Carter buried herself in her work and she was content. She'd landed a pivotal role on the single most important project on Earth—truthfully, she was the happiest she'd ever been, antiquated ideals be damned. She knew she was important. That was all she needed.

But all those old insecurities came rushing back the second she stepped into that briefing room and had all eyes turn to criticize her glaring lack of a Y chromosome. In her dress blues it was all out in the open for everyone to look at.

So she let them look.

And she let them talk.

But Sam Carter did not let them mistake her. She was going through with SG-1 this time.

Days turned to weeks turned to months and Sam began to grow accustomed to her new home of grey concrete and constant technical issues. She felt that maybe she had finally found her place—maybe this underground complex and this ragtag group of defenders was where she was always meant to end up.

And so Sam Carter's defenses lowered.

After nearly three decades in the Air Force, she'd finally landed somewhere where she could just be Sam and not have to clarify that it was short for Samantha.

Maybe it was because she'd wanted this for so long. Maybe it was because she'd stopped fighting so hard to the contrary. Or maybe it was simply because she'd come to _trust _them…

But when Sam heard those telltale whispers every time she turned a corner or left the commissary, she knew.

She was right back in the Academy, wrapping an ace bandage over her chest so that maybe today—just for this one day—no one would dismiss her. Sam Carter was humiliated.

Her base, _her home_, had not stayed immune. They were whispering behind her back again; she could see it in the way their eyes shifted over to her while she was eating… she could hear her name slip through the crack in the door right before it closed.

Sam Carter re-soldered her defenses. She would be nobody's fool.

…

Colonel Makepeace watched surreptitiously as Captain Carter grabbed a sandwich in one hand, a cup of gritty coffee in the other, and practically ran from the commissary; shouldering the door open without looking up at anyone. "Man, does she never take a second off?"

Major Ferretti glanced at the softly swishing door. "If she's anything like Jackson, I'd have to say no."

"I still can't believe O'Neill got _two _scientists." Makepeace shook his head and he poked around the meatloaf special with his fork. Special was certainly a word for it…

"Carter's a captain, man. USAF stamped and approved." Ferretti watched with distaste as Makepeace unearthed something gray in his meat. "Ugh."

"That's kind of my point. Not exactly fair he got to have Captain Carter _and_ Doctor Jackson." Makepeace, having decided that his meatloaf was a lost cause, shoved his tray aside and sighed deeply.

"Ah. I know what you mean. I wouldn't mind having Carter on my team; O'Neill and Jackson go way back, so he should probably keep him."

Makepeace flickered between annoyance and amusement. "I think she'd be a better fit on my team. The closest thing we have to a brain is Franks and I'm pretty sure he still thinks the Earth is flat."

Ferretti snorted. "Yeah, well, as far as second in commands go, you've got Marcus who is a friggin tactical genius. Meanwhile, I have Louis and I love 'im, but he could stand a few lessons from Captain Carter."

"I've honestly never seen someone 'yes, sir' so sincerely."

"That all you want in a second, colonel? I'll trade you Louis, he's pretty good with the honorifics." Ferretti smirked as he snagged the abandoned baked potato from Makepeace's tray.

Makepeace arched a brow. "I'll stick with Marcus, thanks."

"Unless Carter's available."

"Of course."

"You boys better get in line." Colonel Miller—leader of SG-5—grumbled as he plopped his own meatloaf-laden tray down beside Ferretti. "There's a waiting list a mile long for Captain Carter."

"As a member of the original Abydos team _and_ leader of SG-2, I think I get first dibs. Plus, we bonded over Major Matt Mason." Ferretti tried to squirrel away Miller's potato, but got caught in a fork duel instead.

"Who?" Makepeace frowned skeptically before waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Nevermind. I outrank you, so I win."

Miller scoffed and, having successfully fended off Ferretti's roaming fork, piped up. "We're the same rank, Robert. Pulling that crap won't get you any closer to Carter though, O'Neill isn't gonna let her go for anything."

"But he's got two scientists." Makepeace re-pointed out for the benefit of the newcomer.

"Yeah, but she's _his_ second in command. Military trumps science, boys." Miller clicked his tongue and then dug into his grey meat-mash.

"Don't let Doctor Jackson hear you say that." All three officers laughed before falling into an easy silence as they finished their respective—and, in Ferretti's case, not so respective-meals.

"Well," Ferretti said when they'd shoveled the last bits of food from their trays and into their mouths. "I, for one, still hold out hope that Carter will see reason one day and join SG-2. She's a fair person; she knows all her tactical know-how and brainy wits are unfairly distributed in her current position."

"You're a brainy _twit_, Ferretti." Makepeace chuckled as Miller simply furrowed his brow.

"No way in hell, man. O'Neill isn't a moron, he may not have been happy about the captain's placement in the beginning, but I'll just bet he's gloating now when the rest of us aren't around."

"As much as I hate to admit it, he has a right to. You don't come across an officer like her every day." Ferretti sighed a little wistfully.

"Right you are, major." The unexpected voice startled them all—Ferretti nearly spilled his drink in his haste to turn around. "Colonels." Jack fixed them all with a hard stare, face unreadable.

"Colonel O'Neill! That sounded…inappropriate." Ferretti wished the ground would just open up and swallow him—and quick. Jack O'Neill was a fiercely protective son of a bitch and if he thought anything different than what Ferretti had actually meant, well…Apophis probably couldn't make him suffer more.

Jack let the tension swell between the other men for a moment, before smirking a little. "Yes, it did, Ferretti. But I know what you mean." Ferretti breathed a sigh of relief. "However, none of you are getting your grubby paws on my captain."

"Oh, come on, Jack." Miller began in the beseeching tone of someone who'd asked the forthcoming question at least seventy two times. "Let SG-5 just _borrow_ her for a little. One or two missions?"

"No way in hell, Miller." Jack dropped his tray onto the table and took the chair opposite the pleading man.

"Afraid she'll decide she likes another team better, O'Neill?" Makepeace grinned over the top of his coffee mug. He grimaced and briefly wondered if Captain Carter was having the same reaction to her to-go caffeine fix.

"Not a chance." Jack refrained from rolling his eyes—barely.

"Then what's the harm? Spread the wealth, man." Ferretti thought about going after Jack's baked potato. His looked much better than either Makepeace's or Miller's—it was slathered in butter and salt.

"Are you talking about Captain Carter or my potato?"

Ferretti did not answer immediately. It was a valid question.

"Man, if Carter hears you calling her 'wealth' or that anyone besides her can spread it, she'll kick your ass." Makepeace shook his head at the major's innocent idiocy.

"The answer is firmly and forever, no." Jack shoveled a forkful of buttery potato into his mouth. Before Ferretti could spout off something smart, he waved his fork. "To both my captain and my potato."

Miller, Ferretti, and Makepeace all glanced exasperatedly at each other before shrugging. No way were they going to give up, Carter was one hell of an asset and they would all forever hold out a little hope that someone somewhere would throw them a bone. As one, they stood up to take their leave; none of them really wanted to stick around for Jack's not-so-silent gloating.

"Was it something I said?" Jack asked as they gathered their trays, though he really didn't sound at all concerned or the least bit contrite.

"Enjoy your potato, Jack." Miller waved a hand over his shoulder as his little posse departed.

"He has no idea how lucky he is." Ferretti pouted—really, he did, but he'll just say it was a spasm—as they left the dining area.

"Actually," Makepeace pushed open the door and glanced over his shoulder at the other colonel, who looked quite like the proverbial cat with a feather flossig problem. "I think he knows _exactly_ how lucky he is."

…

Jack followed the inelegant departure from his peripheral vision. Those three weren't as subtle as they seemed to think they were; he was pretty sure half the commissary's occupants had heard that little goodbye treat. He made a mental note to have Hammond reiterate to all teams that "being stealthy" was actually an _important_ part of their jobs, not just a fun technicality.

Makepeace was right though. He _did_ know how lucky he was. Carter was the whole package; brilliant (scarily so) and lethal (also scarily so) and she actually knew what "stealth" meant. God help whoever's sixes those three watched after.

It also didn't hurt that she was fiercely loyal, surprisingly funny, and humble beyond belief. Hell, she was the reason they were even able to restart the Stargate Program in the first place and she never once lorded that over anyone. He actually wasn't even sure she really acknowledged that little tidbit beyond it securing her position on the second mission through the gate.

Yes. Jack O'Neill knew how lucky he was.

But did his captain?

**TBC**

**A/N: Part Two up tomorrow! Thank you!**


	2. A Lonely Sandwich

**Chapter Two: A Lonely Sandwich**

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your continued kind words and support! I seriously have the most awesome readers—I love you guys! **

**Enjoy!**

It wasn't hard to track her down, in fact, his feet automatically carried him to the only place he knew he would ever find her. Rapping on the doorframe lightly, he entered her lab before she had a chance to look up from whatever it was she was engrossed in. He noticed the half-eaten sandwich on the table behind her and sighed internally.

"That's the fourth time this week, Carter." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he studied her, waiting for the moment her attentions would shift from her project to him to the sandwich and then back to him. As he watched her go through the predicted motions, he felt a little thrill that he knew her so well. Less than half a year and so much of her was like an open book.

It was the still unreadable parts that intrigued him more than they ought to have.

"Sir?" She blinked once and the guilty look that had been creeping onto her face melted away, her expression perfectly innocent. Man, teenage Carter must have gotten away with so much crap.

"Not gonna work this time." He wagged a finger at her. "The commissary suddenly a little drafty for you?"

The innocent expression disappeared as she shuttered her emotions completely. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Uh-huh." Jack paused, leaning forward on the balls of his feet as he thought about his next approach. He didn't want to force her to talk to him, but something was definitely on her mind and he wanted to be the person that she wanted to talk to. That was okay, right?

Right?

"I'll try this again." Leaning his forearms on her work table, he brought his face close to hers. Ostensibly, to better gauge how truthful she was being, of course. "Why are you avoiding the commissary, Captain?"

Because of his proximity, he heard her breath catch. But, other than that, she didn't flinch. "I'm not, sir. I just figured my time would be better served if I could eat and work at the same time." To emphasize her point she splayed her hands over the many itty bitty pieces of the…whatever it was she was working on.

"That makes sense, captain." He leaned back, but didn't totally move out of her personal sphere. He waited for the moment when she would smile, when she'd thought she'd won—ah! there it was—and pounced. "Except, I know for a fact that there is nothing pressing on your agenda between now and the mission tomorrow."

Sam had the decency to look at least a little chastised before her cheeks colored and an indignant air lifted her shoulders. "I do have other projects besides what we find offworld, sir."

"Oh, I know that." He waved his hand airily. "But that," He indicated the mechanical mess, "Is a toaster, Carter."

Now her cheeks really flushed. Something that Jack tried desperately not to notice because if he did…if he noticed, well, he would just have to make it his life's mission to figure out all the ways he could intentionally make that blush appear.

She mumbled something that sounded distinctly like "traitor" and Jack was loath to find out if she meant him or the toaster. So he would just assume it was the latter.

"Be nice to the toaster, Carter. It's seen better days." He grinned when she scowled at him. "Give it up, Sam." He said it causally enough, flippantly even…but her eyes jerked to his in surprise.

"S-sir?" She stuttered and Sam cursed herself inwardly. She had been doing so well…

Jack didn't say anything, just held his ground and waited. He'd thrown her off, that much was clear, but just how much remained to be seen. He saw the moment she relented, the corners of her mouth turned down the slightest bit and her eyes dimmed, drifting to look at something near his left shoulder.

"It's really nothing, sir."

"Now, I have to disagree, captain."

Sam looked back at him, a determined glint in her eye. "Just my own insecurities, colonel. It's nothing new and I'll get over it."

He didn't respond for a long moment, mulling her words over. Objectively, he couldn't figure out what the hell his captain could be insecure about. He knew he was biased but…well, he couldn't find any faults. But-and here's where that "humble beyond belief" bit came into play—he knew that she didn't see any of what he did in her.

"Doesn't look like nothing, Carter. In fact, it looks a lot like a lonely tuna fish sandwich."

A quick grin flashed across her face, breaking her grim veneer. "Chicken salad, actually."

"Ah." He reached around her and plucked the lonely half sandwich from the plate. Eyes never leaving her face he took a slow bite, watching her watch him. He knew that his little antic would get a reaction, but he was not expecting the flash of something deeper- something more vulnerable and dark—before she schooled her expression.

"Hey!"

"Well, it was lonely." He winked at her—again that flash in her eyes. "Don't worry, you can just go up and get another—oh, wait! You can't because we're in your lab, not the commissary."

Sam squeezed her eyes closed, as much to stop herself from rolling eyes as so that he wouldn't see _again_ exactly what effect he could have on her. It was highly inappropriate and it didn't exactly help her case that she wanted to be seen as "one of the guys" if she was constantly eye-sexing her CO.

"Which brings me back to my original question: why aren't we in the commissary?" Peeking out from under her lashes, Sam knew he wasn't going to let this go.

Sighing heftily, Sam put on as indifferent an air as possible. "If you must know, sir, I'm just a little sick of everyone talking behind my back. I'm used to it, but I thought—I hoped- it was different here." She bit off the rest of her words, afraid that she was leaning too far into whining territory.

When Sam looked back at her CO, she was surprised to find that he was completely still…not even his fingers twitched. Suddenly worried that she may have just opened a rather large can of worms, she stumbled over her words, trying—and failing- to backtrack. "I mean, not everyone. And nothing really bad, you know. I'm sure it's just the usual 'girl in a man's uniform' thing or something similar, but actually," Here she laughed awkwardly, "I'm sure I imagined it. But, you're right, I should eat in the commissary."

With that, she nodded abruptly and made to hop off her stool—she would spend the whole night in the commissary if it got her out from under his shrewd gaze—when she was stopped by two hands on her shoulders.

Gently, he pushed her back onto her stool. "People are going to talk, Carter."

She smiled brightly. "I know, sir. I'm sorry, I think maybe I'm just tired or hungry prob-,"

"But you aren't the only one listening."

"Wh—what?" _That_ made Sam pause.

"You think I don't hear what people say about you—all of SG-1?" He quickly amended.

"Of course you do, sir." Sam winced. Now was not the time to be offending the man trying to extend an olive branch on behalf of the SGC. In truth, it was only in the last few months that she'd really started to let her guard down around him. They hadn't gotten off to the greatest start, but Sam was now wholly convinced that he saw her for exactly what she was.

A member of his team.

Awesome.

"Carter." He waited until reluctant blue eyes met his. "Those wagging tongues aren't saying what you think they are." Sam narrowed her eyes slightly, suddenly suspicious. Jack just barely managed to swallow the chuckle that threatened to burst forth when she looked at him like that. Her features were swept up in a battle between doubting him and knowing that she technically wasn't supposed to doubt him.

He let her stew a moment longer before letting her in on the now long-running secret. "They're fighting over you, captain." He watched her eyes widen. "Every single SG team leader has asked me if they could "borrow" you for a mission or two." His air quotes dripped with disdain. "Greedy little buggers."

Sam quirked an eyebrow, processing everything he'd just told her. "Doesn't sound like they're the greedy ones, sir."

"Fair point. But what can I say? I'm a guy who knows what he wants." Jack didn't need the sudden saucer-like size of Sam's eyes to tell him he'd just put his foot firmly in his mouth. "Uh, a colonel who knows what his team needs."

Suddenly, Sam was beaming. She literally couldn't help it. Trying to stop it—or even tone it down in the slightest—was like trying to catch bees with vinegar…or whatever. "Right. Of course."

So. People were talking about her. But, if he was telling the truth, they weren't disparaging her for her gender or her schooling. They were trying to nab her for their own benefit! Sam had to admit she selfishly wished her academy class could see her now.

She also kind of wished they could see who she was _with_ now. Well, not _with_ with…

Man. She really was not helping her 'Joan of Arc' issues.

"Earth to Carter." Jack waved a hand in front of her face. "Where'd ya go?"

Sam briefly considered telling him her fantasy of finally allaying long-harbored growing pains, but ultimately decided she'd done enough sharing for the moment. "Someplace with food."

"Now you're talking my language." He grinned when she laughed softly. Stepping back for the first time since he'd entered her lab, he offered her the crook of his elbow. "Since that toaster seems sufficiently put in its place, what's say we head topside? I know a little place with pizza that'll knock your socks off." _And only her socks. Yup. Socks. Nothing else. Unless someone were to spill sauce all over her lap—no! No, just socks. _

"My sandwich didn't do it for you, colonel?" She ignored his half-hearted glare as she shut off her table lamp and, after hesitating for only a second, looped her arm through his.

He tugged her down the corridor, afraid that she would change her mind. He was playing with fire, he knew. He really shouldn't be taking her out to eat, or if he was, he really should be asking Daniel and Teal'c to come too…but he didn't want to.

Luckily, his second in command didn't seem too eager to invite the others either. Or was he reading into that too much?

Oh, well. He'd take what he could get.

As they made their way to the surface, arms still connected, Jack couldn't help but do that silent gloating thing he'd gotten so good at. Out of everyone on base, he was the one who could make her blush. He was the one who made her nose scrunch when she tried not to smile.

His was the arm she allowed to support her's.

Oh, yeah. He knew _exactly_ how lucky he was.

**The End**

**A/N: I hope you liked it!**


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